


Reservations

by likelike_love



Category: In Plain Sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likelike_love/pseuds/likelike_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A melancholy piece from Marshall's POV.  A deep desire for -- and fear of -- something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reservations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenstuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenstuff/gifts).



> Written for greenstuff during the 1st Annual Secret Snowflake event on mary_marshall.livejournal.com. She provided the following prompts: Secrets; Addiction; Mary/Marshall, White Christmas. 
> 
> The title and the lyric quoted in the piece are from Wilco's achingly beautiful [Reservations](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohqKLMqUHKw) off the album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.
> 
> [Originally posted](http://mary-marshall.livejournal.com/499040.html) on mary_marshall.livejournal.com on December 26, 2010.

Marshall awoke, dry-mouthed and groggy in the passenger seat. The rhythmic sound of tires on pavement wasn’t quite drowned out by Wilco on the radio. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Mary replied without taking her eyes from the road. Her blonde hair shone by the dashboard light.

“This isn’t Trinidad.” His voice was gruff from sleep.

“It isn’t?!” She huffed a laugh. “Kidding. Yeah, I still had a few hundred miles in me and you were down for the count, so I made an executive decision. But now I’m starving.” She flipped her directional and navigated into the right lane in anticipation of the upcoming exit.

Marshall squinted into the darkness trying to get an idea of their location. “Wait, you made it all the way to Santa Fe? What time is it? How fast were you driving, Mario Andretti?”

When she grinned at him, he felt his blood fizz.

“You don’t want to know,” she replied. “And I don’t think you’ll be complaining when you see where we’re headed.”

His eyes widened. “Tomasita’s?” 

Mary could help but return his smile. “It’s Friday night.”

There was wonder in his voice when he turned to peer out the window and whisper, “Carne adovada.”

On the radio, Jeff Tweedy was singing, “How can I get closer and be further away?” Marshall rested the back of his hand on the window and hummed along.

* * *

The lot was full enough that Mary had to make her own parking space by the railroad tracks. They met behind the car for the customary stretching and popping after an hours long car ride. As Marshall eased his arms out, Mary reached out to pat him on the stomach. His muscles tensed immediately. She grinned and tapped him twice.

“Two for flinching.” She turned away. “Now feed me!”

They made their way across the parking lot to the restaurant. The Friday night crowd spilled out the door. Marshall staked out a spot along the wall in the entryway. After Mary put their name in, she squeezed in beside him, ducking under his arm. When a waitress squeezed by en route from the kitchen to the bar, Marshall wrapped his arm more firmly around Mary’s shoulders and pulled her to him to avoid her being clocked by the overladen tray.

She tilted her head to look up at him, raised her voice to be heard over the crowd. “Have you ever seen this place so packed?”

He had, and he told her so. His first visit to Tomasita’s was in high school. He and a few friends from school had driven up to Santa Fe on a Friday after last period and spent some time wandering around the Plaza. When they asked around about where to eat, a couple of vendors had steered them towards Tomasita’s. At that time it was a back street dive. They had waited in line for an hour outside before finally getting seated. Starving, his friend James had reached over and pulled over a bowl of green chile and confused it with a mild salsa and drank it like a V8. He promptly drained the carafe of water on the table and moved on to the vase of carnations.

At the sound of her laugh, pure and untainted by booze or bitterness, Marshall knew he was done for. It was something so rare and uncorrupted that it never failed to blanket his heart like Christmas snow. These were the nights, increasingly infrequent, when their witnesses behaved and her family was between crises, that balanced the rest. His eyes dropped closed when she raised her hand to rest on his chest.

When the hostess called her name, Mary threaded a finger through his belt loop to tow him through the crowded entry to dining room. “Thank God! I’m starving.”

They were seated at a small table in the back of the dining room. Marshall pulled out Mary’s chair for her and she shook her head at him with an indulgent smile.

She ordered the enchiladas verde. He ordered the carne adovada. In the time that it took the server to return with their drinks, Mary had kicked her shoes off under the table. She tucked her hair behind her ear and dug into the basket of tortilla chips. She absentmindedly handed him the folded ones while she crossed her legs and leaned closer to hear him over the lively conversations of other diners.

From the moment she laid her hand on his thigh beneath the table, she had him rattled. He was sure she knew it too, by the way his margarita sloshed in the glass, nearly eclipsing the rim. In that moment he was convinced that she knew every secret he’d ever hidden and would systematically destroy him with them. He wasn't so sure he wasn't a bit relieved.

The rest of the dinner passed quickly. It was always this way. These moments were infected with a note of premature wistfulness, of anticipatory nostalgia. He mourned the loss of these easy moments before they even passed.

It felt as if he had settled deeply into a well-worn memory. They were living in a sepia-toned photograph, its hazy edges worn thin from handling. It steeped the moment in a significance it hadn't earned.

* * *

The walk across the parking lot had his mind racing in circles, fingers tingling. He never knew how to divert himself. He felt stuck in an endless loop when they got to this point, when the night air felt warm as bathwater, when streetlights and shining faces were haloed in the mist. The times when Mary's words lost their edge and his lost their urgency. 

She was happy. He drank it down because he couldn't help himself. Five years into their partnership, he could admit to himself that he was powerless over his addiction. He tried to memorize the feel of her grasp at his elbow, sliding down his forearm to tangle her fingers with his.

When he opened the driver's side door, she slid in front of him to get behind the wheel. He shook his head, smiling, and waited for her to settle before gently closing it behind her and making his way around to the passenger's seat. The drive home was quiet. Mary reached across the console to adjust the radio, let her fingers drop to cover Marshall's hand.

When she pulled into his driveway, he covered her hand with his own. "Come inside? Have a drink?" He struggled to keep his face passive. "I've got a really nice single malt."

She put a finger to his lips. "You had me at booze."

The slam of the car doors echoed on the quiet street. He counted every click of Mary's heels on the flagstone path to his porch. He fumbled with his keys at the doorway. They dropped to the porch floor with a clatter. When Mary reached down to grab them, he couldn't stop himself from tangling his fingers in her hair. She reached out to tuck the keys back in his front pocket. 

Her lips were on his before he knew what has happening. They bumped teeth, noses. Her arms came up around his neck and she tilted her head to deepen the kiss. 

When they broke the kiss to come up for air, Marshall whispered, "Mary, I-"

When she looked up at him, he could see it in her eyes. Retreat.

"It's late. I should be getting home."

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah. I'm beat."

She was halfway down the walk before he called out to her again. "Mare?"

She turned. "Yeah?"

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Tomorrow."

He waited on the porch until she backed out of the driveway and pulled away. He pulled the keys from his pocket again to let himself in. He didn't reach for the light switch once inside. Instead he leaned his back against the door, shoulders shaking with sorrow and relief.


End file.
